


hold my hand, it's too heavy for me

by pvwork



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: Blood, Dark Magic, Gen, Mother-Son Relationship, POV Second Person, Pre-Series, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-06
Updated: 2013-12-06
Packaged: 2018-01-03 15:15:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1071975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pvwork/pseuds/pvwork
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Black smoke pouring out of a gently simmering crock pot in the dark of night is a normal thing if your mom is a hedge witch. And Andy Brooks' mom is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	hold my hand, it's too heavy for me

it didn't feel all that dark when your mother was casting. she usually did it at night, but it was always before your bed time and you were always free to watch her. 

she liked to sit you down on a tall stool next to her work table and she would turn on a little desk lamp and explain the things she was preparing to put into a gently simmering crock pot. when dark smelling smoke poured out, it reminded you of fresh dirt and the last of the summer rain, your mother would always tell you what a good job you did after she finished chanting in soothing rhythms.

you used to catch frogs for her. wandering around in the great sprawl of trees behind your house, you would tip toe across the fallen leaves and snatch slimy little legs mid-leap. 

it wasn't scary at all when your mother was casting. 

*

you don't really get into anything until college.

you were taking a course on mythology. or maybe it was a study of biblic allusions in modern literature. you don't remember. anthropology?

the point remains that you start meeting new people, people from the east coast whom had families that arrived in the mayflower. they teach you about fire. they teach you about blood. 

and you woke groggy and angry in the morning. when you combed your rich black hair back neatly in the communal bathrooms of your resident hall you would look at your skin, pale but not quite the right shade. you wondered a little about the unnamed darkness spreading in the crease of your elbow like delicate mold and the way you felt like you could eat a heart without flinching the way wild animals did and you wondered some more about other things.

you called your mother a lot in those days. you liked hearing her smile over the phone, the gentle falling of words through all the miles right into your ears, her broken english soothing in a world of fierce, sharp academia. words were precise little knives here, and just last night you watched a girl cut open her palm and plaster the wound with strips of paper covered in small letters that wiggled in the flickering light. 

you were all pretty far from the campus and it was dark and the night sky was a blackness that made it hard for you to breathe. 

you don't tell her that though. you tell her about how fun your college math courses are. challenging. frustrating. rewarding.

*

you apply for the police academy because tommy said that you would get in. tommy was a pretty reliable guy, big and brawny and towheaded with a friendly smile and white, white teeth. 

he liked to go to libraries with you and wander around behind you as you searched deeper and darker places for the answers you've always had. you wonder and wonder and he was content to follow behind and laugh at you sometimes when you fell.

you were never really sure about his intentions because he was about as likely to help you up as push you down into the ground more firmly (stand over your splayed out corpse and laugh his big laugh down at you). 

but you take his word for it and start to run longer in the mornings, work out a little more, take up kick boxing classes at your local sports club. your nightly studies are put on hold for another kind of studying, the kind of stuff that goes into your brain those following few weeks could actually be brought out into the light of day to show off. tommy sat back in his white polo shirt and held up flashcards to help you study when he felt like it and his eyes were very blue when he congratulated you when you receive your acceptance letter. 

it's all very official. but that doesn't make it feel any less underhanded when you arrive to your first day with your uniform so sharply pressed someone could get a paper cut from standing too near you. 

*

you meet abbie mills, but she hardly registers on your radar until three weeks in and she's laughing loud and happy and open two tables down. 

you want to laugh like that. 

you find out that her favorite food is apple pie a la mode and she likes the color green. you find out that she is strong and interesting and she has a sister in a mental institution she talks about with a hard mouth but soft eyes. you meet her officially for the first time in the break room as you two argue over the last reeses pieces bar in the vending machine. she lets you have it through no fault of your own.

you wouldn't go so far as to say that you are smitten, but you always have to remind yourself when you two go out for coffee that it certainly isn't a date and when she laughs at a quip you make that it is because she has always been susceptible to awful puns. when she gets a boyfriend, you are not disappointed. 

*

tommy calls you up one night. it's late. the stars are out winking like merry little things, and he tells you to meet him for a reunion, just a get together, nothing serious. 

you should have known better. but it's tommy and you have a hard time saying no to him. the night is young, you say to yourself as you take off your jacket upon arriving home from work. you can leave early if it's boring, you think as you change into something that hopefully won't have the people at tommy's gathering making "arrest me officer, i've been bad this holiday season" jokes all night long. 

you were hoping for all the wrong things you realize upon arriving to candles and incantations. your last conscious thought as they pull you deeper into the ring, prick your finger, and begin to chant, is that you are not afraid. you are not afraid as death creeps into your mind, settles around your tongue, and greets you the way you imagine an eighteenth century gentleman would greet a servant of his.

**Author's Note:**

> John Cho though. Just. John Cho.


End file.
